


Royal Rendezvous Revisited

by nana_banana



Series: Rendezvous [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blindshipping, Blood and Violence, Decapitation, Fluff, Graphic Violence, Humor, Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Puzzleshipping, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:45:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9287144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nana_banana/pseuds/nana_banana
Summary: While Heba expects repercussions from his night with Pharaoh, he doesn't expect his life to be completely ruined by it. While that is upsetting in itself, the one man who could fix it all isn't speaking to him. In fact, Pharaoh Atemu is downright pretending that Heba doesn't exist.Alone, spurned, and without a friend in the world, Heba can see birds of prey gathering in the horizon and the sinking feeling in his gut tells him they're heading straight for him.What's a servant to do?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashethehedgehog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashethehedgehog/gifts).



> Surprise! This is a birthday fic for the absolute gorgeous Ashe (ily, man), but I hope the rest of you like it too! I wasn't actually ever going to post this, but when Ashe told me she had a soft spot for Ancient Egypt AUs, I just had to revisit this mess of a fic and work extra hard to finish it for her birthday!
> 
> So after more than a year of waiting, part 2 is finally here. I really hope you'll enjoy!

An hour before Ra was to begin his journey across the sky, Heba woke with a bat of his eyelashes. He was alone, relatively speaking. Sleeping night after night, surrounded by servants, he was never truly alone, though Heba had learned to ignore the presence of others. However, this morning was different than usual, as the night before, he had not been in bed alone. With a groan, Heba slowly flopped onto his front and sighed as he raised his head, glancing around. Despite their passionate night together, Pharaoh Atemu was not with him. But of course, the king had no reason to be.

The previous night after regaining his breath, Pharaoh had retrieved his discarded _shendyt_ and carefully cleaned them up. His touch had been gentle, a stark contrast from their torrid lovemaking. Taken by surprise, Heba had been quiet as Pharaoh laid one last kiss upon his lips, murmuring words so quietly, that Heba did not hear them over the frantic beating of his heart. The kiss had been soft and warm. Heba's stomach had flipped and his heart leapt up into his throat. But before he could so much as regain his breath, Pharaoh had departed from Heba's side. He had taken the golden pyramid and stood in all his naked glory, replacing the brown cord around his neck. And with a last, burning caress of his gaze, Pharaoh had gone.

Once Pharaoh's footsteps had died away, Heba carefully stood and fled the room to wash himself of the evidence on his body, sneaking through the palace like a thief in the night, avoiding the patrol to keep his decency. However, he had been unable to do anything about the bruises on his chest, his ribs or his stomach. He could not see his neck, but he suspected there were bite marks there as well. The only marks he was able to hide were the one on his thigh and the small ones on his hips, and only with the help of his wrap. Heba wished Pharaoh had not been so free with his teeth and left so many obvious marks upon his skin. His little stint with the king of Khemet was good as public knowledge because of them.

When he had returned, the guard had given him a knowing smirk and Heba had blushed to the roots of his purple hair. If the guard had heard them, he wondered who else had as well. The thought of his fellow coworkers knowing he had been bedded by the god-king of Khemet made him uncomfortable. Albeit, as soon as he had laid upon his mat, the shifting and the whispers like quiet winds rose up around him, driving the realization home that his fellow servants had not been asleep. Immediately, Heba had feigned sleep even as his cheeks had burned with mortification.

Sighing, Heba stretched his body with great care, tentatively flexing his muscles before pushing himself back onto his knees with a discomfited sigh. He cast a worried glance around him, taking in the sleeping figures before quickly plucking his work tunic from its place as a pillow and unfolding it. He pulled it on and tied the brown sash securely, wishing it were enough, but the collar of it was too low hide it all. No doubt, he would be the center of attention when the other servants rose. They were all moments from being woken by their manager to begin another day of work at Pharaoh's grand home.

Heba could hear said manager now as he sat quietly in his work tunic. The familiar, heavy footfalls of the tall brunette were coming down the antechamber. With a deep breath, Heba stood, rolling up his mat and tucking it away in the corner of the room where others would soon join it. He ran worried fingers over the bare skin of his neck as though his persistent touch would make his marks vanish quicker. Gnawing on his bottom lip, he sighed reluctantly and braced himself for the coming day.

* * *

He had not been wrong. Heba had indeed become the palace gossip. Everywhere he went, people knew him. There was not a servant, guard, or slave that did not know his name. He was constantly greeted with large smiles or graced with seething smirks by the staff at every turn. There were whispers of his name everywhere in the palace. The nobles, on the other hand, pretended they did not see him at all. They asked little of him and often ignored him when he tended to them. Goblets of wine, platters of food, and important documents were left hanging in the air, ignored for long periods of time until Heba's arms grew heavy and the nobles felt they had proven whatever twisted point they were trying to make. They then accepted Heba's aid and often sneered at him for being late when he had done nothing to warrant the ill treatment. All of it was starting to grate on Heba's last nerve and he felt justified in his habit of sneaking some of their fruit.

Regardless of whatever sense of justice he contrived from his swiping of fruits, Heba had not signed up for this. Sure, he had been bedded by the god-king of Khemet, but that did not warrant the eyes of the palace to judge him for it. His anonymity as a servant was completely gone and no one seemed to leave him be. Every place he went to was filled with disgusting people who begged him for the sordid details and commented on the marks Pharaoh had left on him while they bathed. Others thought, that if they got close enough to Heba, Pharaoh would notice them as well. They were like locusts in the way they swarmed him, thinking that if they were nice enough, that riches and comfort were not far behind.

After all, Heba was Pharaoh's new whore and a whore with the king's ear could be exploited to climb the social ladder.

Heba despised the attention.

“Ah, there he goes,” Heba heard as he walked into the courtyard.

“Who?” answered another voice as Heba began to peer around, looking for the source.

“...The little whore who bent over for Pharaoh,” said the first, and Heba's attention snapped forward, gut twisting as he feigned deafness. His pace picked up, eager to get away.

“Oh, you mean that Heba boy?” said the second. “Just because you're jealous is no reason to call him a whore.”

“So that's his name?” said the first, obstinate in their derision as Heba made his way out of the courtyard. “I've been calling him 'little Pharaoh's whore' for a week now.”

Clenching his teeth, Heba walked on down a connecting hall, a heavy bucket of soapy water in hand. Everywhere he went, whispers followed. They clung to the edges of his tunic and skirted around his bare feet. They were not always lewd and invasive. Some were even about Pharaoh himself. They questioned when Pharaoh would call on him again. Some wondered why the king of Upper and Lower Khemet had chosen him at all. They ached to know what had made Heba so special.

It did not matter that more than a month had passed. It did not matter that Pharaoh had not paid Heba a second visit. It did not matter that the king did not so much as glance in Heba's direction. Heba was forever branded as Pharaoh's whore. Though the bruises had healed from his body, the malignant title would remain like a birthmark on his skin.

Grinding his teeth, Heba abruptly stopped in his tracks. He dropped the bucket to the ground in exasperation, and the water inside sloshed out angrily over his feet. Before him was the corridor that his superior had ordered him to clean. Only, once again, he had been beaten to the job. It was not Heba's normal duty to scrub floors. In fact, Heba's usual duty was to attend the people of Pharaoh's court. He was to fetch wine, documents, food, anything they required of him. Cleaning the palace was far down on his list of duties. It was arguable that cleaning was beneath someone of his rank. But as the court outright ignored him, he could not do much about it. In Pharaoh's palace, it was better to do an unpleasant job, than to be completely useless. Even if the last job left for him was laundry.

The two servants scrubbing the floor looked up at the sound of the bucket and the sloshing water. Wide grins came onto their faces, and under normal circumstances, smiling servants would have made Heba happy. But these were not normal circumstances and their smiles made Heba sick to his stomach. They were predatory and eager, filled with insidious thoughts that even Heba's gullible mind could not ignore. Heba picked the bucket from the ground with a grimace. He would not be staying near these two. With his head held high, even though he very much wished to hide, he made to walk away.

He would find another corridor to clean. One that did not have starving hyenas grinning at him with less than pure intentions. As he turned, one of the servants dropped what they were doing to rush him and grab him by the arm.

“Heba, Heba!” he said with too much joy, “Where are you going? Look! We did your work for you. Let's get to know each other now that you aren't busy!”

Heba quickly pulled away from the greedy hand and looked back at the servant with a sigh. It was always the same thing. Heba was really growing tired of it. Being passive and walking away from these situations was not working, so he decided to be blunt for once. Taking a large breath, Heba gathered his courage and spoke.

“The king has not come to me in a m-month!” Heba said loudly, blushing at his stutter, “Whatever you think you're going to gain from doing my work a-and trying to be n-nice to me is all for nothing! The king does not wa-want me. Get that through your heads!” With a final glare, Heba turned away from the annoyed faces and began walking. All he wanted was for his life to go back to normal. He wanted these irritations to be gone. He wanted strangers to stop trying to get into his inner circle just to know how large Pharaoh's cock was.

Heba made his way down corridor after corridor, searching for one that had yet to be cleaned or one that did not have servants and slaves wiping at the floor and eyeing him with glints in their beady eyes. He eventually came upon his scribe friends who were in the archive room, sorting things back into their places. Heba missed working with them. It had been a long while since he had been sent to the archive room to retrieve a needed scroll. Before he could even greet his friends, however, he found himself rebuffed.

“Heba,” said his blonde friend upon seeing him, “maybe you should just … go. We're not going to get any work done with all these people trying to get your attention.” And as Heba looked around, he noticed that other servants were coming over, dropping what they were doing to sneak closer. His friend gave him a pointed look. “See?” he said his voice tainted by annoyance, “It's better if you go.”

Heba looked to his other friend, a brunette who refused to meet his eyes. With a sigh, he lowered his gaze to the ground. Even his friends were treating him differently now. They were higher ranked than him, but they had never thought less of Heba. They had befriended him and included him. But ever since his night with Pharaoh, they often became annoyed and told Heba to steer clear. Heba missed their camaraderie. He missed hanging out with them. They no longer relaxed in the public gardens between jobs. His blonde friend did not even look for him when he last planned a prank on High Priest Seto. Heba had only found out about the incident because he could hear the priest screaming across the courtyard about his missing robes and scrolls being out of place.

So Heba turned on his heel and left. He did not have another choice. His friends did not want him around. But instead of heading back to his manager for another assignment, Heba dropped off the bucket in the supply room and wandered the palace. Annoyed and hurt, he began to think of a way to get everyone to leave him alone. This could not go on, it was destroying his life. He was becoming a servant without a purpose and Heba hated the thought. Servants with no purpose did not last long in the king's palace. If his situation did not improve, he would soon be without a home.

* * *

By the time Heba emerged from his thoughts, he found himself in one of Pharaoh's gardens. This particular one was not the king's personal garden, but it _was_ off limits to any servant who did not tend to it, unless said servant belonged to a visitor. For a moment, Heba froze and quickly glanced around to see if anyone had spotted him, but there was no one around, not even the guards, and that was highly unusual. Thinking nothing of it, he breathed a sigh of relief and moved into the shade of a low-hanging date tree. He did not want to be caught and whipped for being there, but then a bitter thought entered his mind: _would anyone truly try anything against the king's whore?_

“Well, if it isn't the king's new whore,” said a snide voice as though the thought had been plucked from his very head. Heba's attention snapped up to see a noble leering at him. He recognized the man as one of Pharaoh's court. This one he knew would rather boast of his position than do any of the work required of it. And he knew it because Heba, among other servants, had often been called upon to carry out his duties around the palace. Duties including, but not limited to watching over and organizing Pharaoh’s granaries. Immediately, Heba lowered his gaze and cursed silently. He should have gone before when he had had the chance. He did not particularly feel like burying himself in grain or trekking all over the city with missives. “I wonder what he sees in you. You're not much to look at.”

With a clenched jaw, Heba ignored the pudgy man. He was dressed in a long tunic with a colorful blue belt hanging below his rotund belly, three rings slipped onto his stubby fingers and a gold collar hanging proudly from his fat neck. The man approached and Heba fought the urge to run away. The man was a noble and he was but a servant. He could not anger the man or he would most definitely be whipped.

“What, nothing to say?” the man taunted in his sleazy voice. There was sweat at his brow and his bald head shined in the sun. “Oh, that's right,” laughed the man, “he hasn't come back to you, has he? He's probably found himself another little treat by now.” He huffed in derision and said, “You must not have been very good.” The man came closer and Heba stepped back against the bladed bark of the tree. He did not like the look in the noble's eyes. He did not like the gross way he smelled. He did not want to be there at all. “But now that he doesn't want you...”

Before Heba could react, the man was upon him, pressing him into the jagged ends of the bark. Heba gasped and gagged when the stench of the man permeated his nose. It suffocated him with the rankness of sweat, putrid breath, and bad body odor.

“Let's see what's so great about you, little whore.”

Gut twisting with panic, Heba fought. He would not surrender to this gross man. Servant or not, he would rather be whipped than to endure this revolting person's touch. He jerked and the man slapped him harshly, the gold of his rings bruising his cheek. Heba was momentarily dazed and the man took advantage, pressing his foul mouth to Heba's. Disgust filled him and Heba jerked back. The bark of the tree dug into him and he bit down the noble's lip, breaking through the skin. The man wrenched away, hand wiping disbelievingly at his lip. Heba turned his face and spit the blood that had welled into his mouth.

“Don't,” Heba breathed, trembling in anger, “t-touch me!”

The noble's face twisted in incredulity, eyes disbelieving what he saw. But his surprise quickly fled and his face contorted with rage.

“You whore!” the noble screamed.

The man struck him again and Heba fell to the ground. Falling upon him, the man pinned him with his large body and Heba kicked at him.

“Get off me!” he yelled, and the man hit him with a closed fist, knocking stars into Heba's vision and causing it to blur. While he was momentarily stunned, the man began to paw at his ass. He clenched his fingers around the mound of Heba's flesh in a bruising grip and Heba could feel the bile rise into his mouth in abhorrence. In another attempt to get the man off of him, he lashed out with a hand and succeeded in scratching his eye. The man shouted in fury and agony, and then his sweaty, porcine body was gone. Heba turned onto his side and his mind spun. He felt as though he would throw up. As he fought to regain his bearings, a dark laughter suddenly filled his ears.

Heba looked up, noting a discarded red cloak on the ground beside him. He lifted his gaze further, eyes searching for the source of the sound, and his entire body stilled in cold dread. Pharaoh was not far from him, standing tall and littered in gold. There was a wide blade in his hand and a dangerous gleam in his wine-colored eyes, the golden pyramid at his chest glinting maliciously. Heba shuddered at the sight of it, chills creeping up his spine. With a breathless gasp, Heba scooted backwards and stopped when his back met the rugged bark of the tree. His heart was racing and his chest heaved as he panted, suddenly even more afraid than before. There were soldiers Heba had not noticed surrounding them, ten of them in total. They were blank-faced and two of them were restraining the noble that attacked Heba. The noble was panting heavily, the blood trailing from his eye and his lip smeared over his face.

“I have to thank you,” Pharaoh spoke and there was humor in his tone, “I have been meaning to find a way to release all this built up stress. Let him go. I'll give him a fighting chance to live.”

The guards holding the man released him and Pharaoh motioned for one of the guards to come closer. Heba did not understand what was going on, but as he was not in any immediate danger, he waited against his tree, mouth sealed shut, unwilling to call attention to himself. He even hesitated to wipe the slobber and blood from his lips, watching as the guard came forth. Pharaoh took his weapon, a spear with a very sharp-looking end that gave Heba an uneasy feeling in his gut. With a quick, cursory inspection, Pharaoh tossed it to the fat man that attacked Heba and it collided with the noble's round stomach before clattering to the ground. The king looked less than amused by the man's lack of dexterity.

“Well?” he said, “Pick it up already. It won't be much fun cutting you down if you can't at least defend yourself.”

But instead of doing as Pharaoh ordained, the man scrambled to the ground, bowing for all he was worth, which to Heba was not much.

“My pharaoh, please forgive me!” the nobleman cried loudly.

“Pick it up,” Pharaoh repeated with his booming voice, and the noble snatched up the pole hastily, his trembling coming to a stop as his beady eyes hardened. Heba could already see the foolish decision forming in them.

“You would kill me, a person of your court, for a _servant?”_ he said angrily. The man spit blood to the ground, jaw clenching as his eyes widened in disbelief. “I am worth more than that pathetic, worthless whore!”

Pharaoh's stance, though loose, tightened minutely at his shoulder blades. It was such a small action, that Heba did not think anyone else had noticed. He blinked in surprise.

“Alright, I'll let you have the first strike,” Pharaoh said with a smirk, “go ahead and give it your best try.” He waited, feet spread and sword dangling from his fingertips. He had yet to take up a defensive stance, and Heba held his breath in anticipation. “No one is to interfere.”

The guards around them saluted their king in response, stepping back to form a wide ring around them, giving Heba a perfect view of the imminent fight. His stomach dropped when the sweaty, stupid man clenched his weapon and pointed it to his king. Panic churned Heba's stomach and he tensed as the man screamed and charged. He was only a few steps away from Pharaoh when Heba let out an involuntary shriek of worry.

The man lunged with his spear, but just as Heba began to close his eyes, Pharaoh easily sidestepped the wild swipe, a smirk still on his lips. Heba breathed shakily, nerves frazzled as he continued to watch.

“I'm sure you can do better than that,” Pharaoh mocked, and the man prepared to strike again. The king waited until the man was merely a step away to dodge and passed him, expertly swinging his sword back to smack the man in the middle of his back with its flat side. Pharaoh laughed and the man growled in aggravation, twisting to attack again. But as Pharaoh evaded for the third time, he brought his sword up in a firm grip and knocked the spear out of the noble's hands.

Surprised and thrown by the action, the tubby man crouched to pick up his fallen weapon and the king pressed the tip of his blade to the other's throat, bringing the man to a pause. Finally, Pharaoh's smirk dropped into thin-lipped solemnity. The man looked down then, eyes falling to the blade at his throat before looking up into the king's humorless, grim stare. A raw fear took residence in the noble's eyes and Heba was secretly pleased by the sight. The man shook, trembling from head to foot, and Pharaoh's expression grew dark.

“A ‘pathetic worthless whore'?” Pharaoh's voice was low and deadly, ire in his words, temper barely held at bay, “Pathetic? Look at yourself, trembling before me like a leaf. Worthless? Who would try to stop me if I struck you down now? Whore? None but I am allowed to partake of his flesh.” He grew quiet for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “Even if he fucked his way through my entire kingdom, he would not be as great a whore as you,” he said. “Did you really think me blind to your misdeeds? You do nothing but take to the highest bidder and cut corners at the cost of my people.” Pharaoh was almost growling his words and he pressed the blade insistently into the man's skin. Heba could see the blood beginning to bead at the tip and his vindictive amusement vanished as his stomach flipped with dread. Realization dawned on him then. Pharaoh was not planning on teaching the man a lesson. Pharaoh was going to _kill him._

“You dared strike _my_ servant when you could not land a single blow against me,” the king snarled lowly, “you sniveling piece of excrement.”

“Please, Pharaoh, your majesty, my glorious king, please, give me one more chance!” the noble pleaded. “I beg of you!”

“Silence,” Pharaoh demanded with his quiet word and the man shut up at once. “Did you have mercy when my servant cried for his release from your vile touch? Did you even think twice before –” Pharaoh cut off for a single moment. The man was sniveling, great fat tears streaming down his cheeks, a glob of snot at his nose, wordless, nonsensical pleas leaving his lips. And yet Pharaoh's voice never rose. “I said _silence,_ your _god_ is _speaking_ – answer me this, coward: did you, or did you not think twice before you dared lay a filthy hand on him?”

“Pharaoh, please!” the man cried and fell to his knees, hands raised in terror. He pleaded for his life, for mercy. He begged with his gasping sobs and tumultuous eyes.

With a look of utter disgust, the king raised his weapon high, catching the light of the golden disk in the sky.

Heba's heart stopped in his chest.

“Kneel!” Pharaoh hissed, “Bare your neck to your king and may Ammit devour your heart.”

“Atemu, no!”

The king jerked and Heba leapt forward, placing himself before the man. He threw out his arms, standing before his shocked king.

“D-do not kill him!” Heba cried out.

Pharaoh took pause and eyed Heba with curiosity as Heba's poor heart thudded rapidly in his chest, ready to leap itself into the afterlife. He knew he was taking an extremely stupid risk, standing up to Pharaoh like he was. To stand up to a god who could smite him where he stood was more than foolish, it was suicide. But, still, Heba stood his ground.

“Why,” Pharaoh asked him in a low voice, “why do you defend the coward who would have raped you without a second thought? Without remorse?” Pharaoh's sword did not budge from its position in the air and Heba felt as though he were seconds from being struck down. Though as he looked Pharaoh in the eyes, Heba's heart skipped a beat and he knew then that his king would not slice through him. “I know you are not foolish enough to have betrayed me, little one.”

Even as his frame shook and his knees threatened to give way, Heba stared straight into his king's eyes. He was committing blasphemy by looking his king straight in the face, by speaking to him directly, by standing in his presence. Every part of him was breaking every rule he knew. Yet, even as he sinned, the guards did not drag him away to be beaten or executed, and his king did not turn dark eyes onto him. Pharaoh remained steady and curious, eyes hard, yet with a soft glint. Heba took a breath, but his primal fear did not dissipate. It coursed within him, threatening to drop him to his knees and make him piss himself with fear.

“I can't allow you to kill someone in my name,” Heba spoke and his words were miraculously even, “I will not have anyone die because of me. Not for me.”

Pharaoh still did not lower his sword and his head tilted in consideration.

“...Would you still stand in that very spot if I decided to go through you, little one?” Pharaoh asked and his eyes hardened into something unfeeling like the stone under Heba's feet. Heba measured his gaze and something in his gut bade him to trust it. So Heba braced himself, nodding. If Pharaoh killed someone because of him, Heba's conscience would never be at rest. Heba would never forgive himself.

“Very well, little Heba,” Pharaoh sneered, “You may die with him.” He lifted his sword higher and swung. Heba closed his eyes at the last second, waiting, but the pain never came. He startled when warm metal tapped his cheek, a chuckle filtering through the garden.

“See this, coward,” Pharaoh said conversationally, “The boy you called pathetic has more courage than you. You are undeserving of his mercy, but I will grant it. I hereby forgive you for harming my servant.”

Heba opened his eyes and looked up into the humored gaze of Pharaoh. A shaky smile formed on his lips, his heart easing from its rapid pace.

“Th-thank you, m-my king,” Heba said and began to bow but Pharaoh waved at him impatiently and Heba straightened. His legs felt wobbly with relief and he did not know how he was still standing. Even his bladder had held together.

“Little one, join my guards. I have something more to say,” Pharaoh stated, and at Heba's suspicious look, he chuckled. “Such distrust,” he said, “I have forgiven him for his crimes against you. Believe me, I will not punish him for hurting you.” Pharaoh waved him away pointedly with a look that told him not to push his luck. So Heba stepped away, his shaking legs yet to fail him. He joined the guards who stood stiffly for orders. Only a couple bothered to look at him in curiosity.

As soon as Heba turned to look at his king, Pharaoh motioned to him and calmly said, “Seize him.”

At once, the guards came to life, the two at his sides grabbing Heba by his arms and forcing him down to his knees. Heba grunted and winced in pain, shock filling his features.

“My king!” Heba called, bewildered, but Pharaoh ignored him.

Instead of listening to Heba, he looked down to the man still kneeling before him and the same disgust from before twisted his face. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly with barely-restrained rage.

“I have granted you clemency for your despicable acts against Heba's body,” Pharaoh growled, “you should be thanking him and begging his forgiveness, so why have you not done so, you ungrateful dog?” Pharaoh kicked the man to the ground and the man yelped. He looked up and flinched as Pharaoh pointed sharply to Heba with his sword. “What are you waiting for?” he murmured, “Thank your savior and beg his forgiveness.”

The noble crawled to Heba then, panicked. He scurried closer and pressed his shiny forehead to the ground.

“Please forgive me!” the man sobbed as Heba looked on in horror. Something nasty overturned his stomach and he suddenly felt like he would be sick. “Forgive me, beautiful child.” The man dragged himself along the ground, dirtying his white tunic with his belly to the stone like a fat cobra. Closer and closer he came, sputtering his words. “Amazing child, you have saved me!” The man drew even nearer and Heba wanted nothing more than to recoil and get away. “I thank you, child. Beautiful child. Please forgive me!” The man was almost to Heba's knees, too close for his comfort.

“You're forgiven!” Heba cried, “Now please stop.” He looked to his king and begged, “Pharaoh, make him stop!” Pharaoh complied with his request by walking over and viciously kicking the man away. The fat man tumbled to the ground, the golden collar around his neck breaking off and falling to the dirt with a faint clink. Heba bit at his lip, he had not meant to have the man hurt more.

“That's enough groveling,” Pharaoh muttered savagely, “now kneel.”

The noble ignored his fallen jewelry and clambered to obey. He kneeled before Pharaoh, his entire being quivering in fear. He was unsightly with tears running in torrents down his face, snot dripping down into his gasping, bloody mouth. A mixture of saliva and blood dribbled down his chin, his forehead smeared in dirt. He was utterly disgusting and Heba felt immense pity for the noble made dog. He half-expected the man to begin pissing himself where he knelt.

Briefly, Pharaoh curled his lip at the man in revulsion, but then his face cleared into solemnity once more.

“Now,” the god-king said, “as for the crime you committed against your god.” Pharaoh clucked his tongue in disapproval and Heba's stomach became laden with dread, nausea filtering through him as chills shot down his spine. “You attacked me, your king, did you not?”

The noble paled considerably and terror slackened his face even more.

“My king,” Heba breathed, “you told me –”

“Did you,” Pharaoh interrupted, “or did you not pick up a weapon with the intention of landing a blow?”

However, Heba could no longer keep his composure.

“My king, please, what are you doing?!” he yelled.

But Pharaoh did not even bother to turn when he commanded, “Gag him.” A guard moved to obey at the corner of Heba's eye and he saw cloth. “You can't do this! Atemu – MMPH!” A guard shoved a wad of cloth into Heba's mouth and used another to wrap around his head so he could not spit it out.

“Answer me,” Pharaoh demanded and the man burst into renewed tears. A faint dripping reached Heba's ears, and when he looked, he saw that the noble had lost control of his bladder at last. The pee surrounded him, yellow and foul-smelling, the noble's expression strained and tight as he continued blubbering.

“N-no, my ki-king,” he denied, his sobs tearing through his throat, “I w-would n-n-never –”

“Show of arms,” Pharaoh interjected above the noise, “who here saw this man attack me with the intention to harm?” However, he did not bother to check when the guards all raised their hands. “It's unanimous,” the king stated without a beat, “for attempting to take the life of myself, I, Great Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Khemet, find you guilty and sentence you to be beheaded and your head to be placed along my walls to warn any who should attempt to do the same.”

Heba shouted against his gag in protest, but Pharaoh had turned a deaf ear to his cries. He struggled against the guards who held him firmly, but could not make their hands budge from his writhing form, their fingers bruising him in their grip. The man on his knees shifted, intending to bolt and Pharaoh reacted, swinging his sword with both hands. Heba let out a muffled scream as the man's suddenly headless body jerked, blood spurting forth from his abruptly severed neck. The head fell with a thud, rolling with momentum in Heba's direction.

With a wave of Pharaoh's hand, the gag was removed and Heba was released. He fell forward and the dead man's eyes fixed themselves upon Heba. The jerking body fell to the ground, the blood pouring from the gaping wound. Heba stared for one long second into those dead eyes before scrambling away. He did not make it far before his stomach heaved, forcing him to pause.

Then Heba threw up.

* * *

A week passed and Heba still awoke from nightmares of disembodied heads speaking to him with dead, unblinking eyes, begging his forgiveness and damning him to the shadows in the same breath. Sometimes it said nothing at all, merely staring at him as the shadows around him whispered for Heba's soul. During the long nights, Heba woke many times with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, gulping down large breaths of air as his heart palpitated with fear. The darkness around him pressed in and Heba would lie awake, terrified of every little sound. He spent those waking moments hoping that a rustle of cloth was a servant turning over and not the noble's headless corpse dragging itself along the stone, leaving a smeared trail of blood on its way to drag Heba down to the Underworld.

On his seventh morning, it was no different. Heba awoke with a scream lodged in his throat, his heart pounding heavily against his ribcage. Sitting up, he pressed a hand to his chest, panting as the frightening whispers of his nightmares faded away. Reaching up, he rubbed at his eyes, ridding himself of his tears and the sandy crust of sleep. He took a moment to breathe and calm his racing heart before he looked up and around. To his great surprise, the room was empty of servants. Eyes wide, Heba leapt up and dressed before fretfully gathering up his mat. With so many sleepless nights, he had overslept. Not a single one of his coworkers had woken him and he had not expected any different.

The past week had drastically worsened things for Heba.

Pharaoh had not wasted a second in going back to completely ignoring Heba's existence. As soon as Heba had lifted his head, he saw Pharaoh striding away, stepping on the now dead man's golden necklace as he went with his guards in tow. Two of them had plucked the body of the noble from the ground and another carried the head, blood trailing behind them on the stone. Pharaoh had not even bothered to look back. Words had bubbled into Heba's throat, but he had not called out. He could only watch as Pharaoh left him once again, and Heba had stayed there, rooted to the floor with shock until servants entered the area with buckets and rags. They had stared at him, eyes wide and whispers shared from lip to lip as though he could not hear them.

Only then had Heba stood up and run as far as his weak legs could carry him.

At night, the grisly sight of the nobleman's decapitated body weighed on Heba's mind, but during the day, the utter dismissal Pharaoh had dealt him was constantly nagging at him. The disregard with which Pharaoh treated Heba grated on him and he did not understand it. Heba had expected some kind of recognition after Pharaoh's heroic display. Whether it be an announcement that he was not to be touched or a warning against those who would do him harm, Heba had expected the slightest bit of recognition. An official position in Pharaoh's harem would not have been remiss, maybe even a declaration of love.

Scoffing, Heba paused as he placed the mat among the line of others against the wall. A declaration of love was more than wishful thinking, it was blasphemy. Shaking his head, he continued out the door and to the throne room, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. But he stood resolute in the idea that there was something largely amiss in Pharaoh's actions. Heba had expected _something_ to happen. He had not thought he would be ignored once again. In Heba's opinion, there was no point in saving him from the vile man, unless his king had planned to publicly stake his claim. It did not make sense to help him if Pharaoh had no interest in him. Pharaoh was not one to do good deeds simply out if the goodness of his heart. While he cared about his kingdom and his people, he always appeared indifferent to the individual.

But his king _did_ have interest in Heba, he felt it in his gut. After all, Pharaoh had executed one of his own court, and Heba did not believe Pharaoh would recklessly bring a noble family's anger upon him on a whim.

* * *

Sighing, Heba ventured throughout the palace, searching for his handler. He had just left the assembly hall, otherwise known as the throne room, and he felt defeated. Not a single person on Pharaoh's court had any need for him. He did not understand what it was he had done to deserve such a dismissal, but he hazarded a guess that it had a lot to do with his assault, and Heba was embittered by it. When he woke that day, he had held hope in his heart, thinking that maybe it would be different. Yet not a single noble or scribe had even looked at him. It was as if he did not exist.

Heart heavy, Heba spotted the man he was looking for, and his gut churned with reluctance. Bracing himself, he walked up to the man in charge of his particular group. The man was tall and wispy-thin, his brown-haired wig hung about his face without care as he looked down at the papyrus paper in his hand, marking off things with a mutter. The man was paused in the middle of a hall, paying no mind to his surroundings. Heba almost did not want to approach him. He knew it would be a waste of time. However, he continued onward with a flicker of hope, until he had reached him and discreetly cleared his throat.

Startled out of his thoughts, the man looked around in confusion before his eyes fell on Heba. He blinked, as though bewildered that there was someone near him.

“Ah, Heba,” he said briskly, “yes, what did you need?”

“Is there anything for me today, sir?” Heba asked meekly, his hands moving to rub at his arms where the bruises from the guards' fingers had yet to fade. The man's eyes dated to the bruises, his forehead creasing before looking down to his documents, seemingly reading through them. Heba waited, hands moving to clasp behind his back. The man began to turn pages, and Heba looked out through the pillars to the courtyard where a couple of servants were making their way across with a large clay pot sandwiched between them. It looked very heavy and Heba had half a mind to go help them.

“Hm, there doesn't seem to be anything,” the man spoke up, and Heba's shoulders slumped as he looked back at him, “why don't you go see if any of the court need anything? Isn't that where you should be right now?”

Pursing his lips, Heba drew up his shoulders tightly.

“They told me to go, that I'm not needed,” he responded through gritted teeth.

A sigh and then, “Well, then, why don't you take this chance and take the day off? See the sights? Play with the children in town? Admire the architecture? I really must go. I have much to do.” The man stepped around him without another word and left down the corridor. Heba stared after him with dejection and looked around to see that the pair of boys juggling the large pot had stopped to stare at him with wide, astounded eyes. Turning his face away, Heba ducked behind a pillar, out of their view.

He knew what those stares meant.

Somehow, what had happened in the garden between the king, the noble, and Heba, had spread like a disease throughout the palace. It would not have bothered him, if only the entire story had been shared. What everyone whispered between pillars and among the shadows, was that Heba had been attacked and that Pharaoh had promptly run to his aid, valiantly beheading the man that raped him. Not only had everyone grossly misunderstood what had happened, but there had been no mention of the attempt on Pharaoh's life. The servants, the guards, the court, and even the slaves were gossiping about Pharaoh's heroic deed and the worst, inaccurate, day of Heba's life.

Even with Heba standing in their very presence, they hissed mockingly about him. They whispered among themselves about how valuable Heba must be for Pharaoh to have dispatched one of his very court without remorse. Of course, Heba had tried to correct them.

 _“No,”_ Heba had explained, _“I wasn't raped! He attacked the king! Pharaoh didn't do it for me!”_

No one had believed him. And if Heba was honest, he did not believe himself either. At least, he did not believe his own lie where the noble's death had not been because of him. Regardless, Heba was upset. A man lost his life _because_ of him. It was Heba's fault that the man was dead. Guilt flipped inside him as he recalled the conversation he had overhead between the Priests of the Dead a few days before. Pharaoh had ordered the man's body to be burned. With his body's burial desecrated and his name stricken from record, Pharaoh had effectively cursed the man in the afterlife. Pharaoh Atemu had damned the dead noble to an eternity of suffering and unrest all because of Heba.

“...It's him, isn't it?”

The voice brought Heba away from his thoughts and he stilled, stomach clenching.

“Heba, yeah. I saw his face. It was him.”

Heba squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath.

“I heard the king killed two guys for touching him.”

“No, you idiot, it was _one_ guy...”

Heba opened his eyes and ran. He raced down the corridor and away from the two boys. He hated them – no, he hated himself for becoming involved with Pharaoh in the first place. He was tired of the whispers and the staring. He was especially tired of the people that kept doing his work and of the nobles who now avoided him like a plague. Now that they knew they would not be spared from Pharaoh's wrath, they actively stayed away from him. His superior did not even bother giving Heba work anymore.

Today was Heba's seventh “day off” and he was about ready to scream. He was barely more than a decoration. No one told him what to do or where to be. He was inconsequential and even his friends were paying him a wide berth. His neighbors in the sleeping quarters had all edged their mats away from Heba's. By this point, Heba's life was starting to feel superfluous.

“You!”

Heba jumped a mile and stopped in his tracks. He spun around to see Seto. The high priest headed towards him with stressed eyes and a grim face, his tall blue hat perfectly in place and his blue robes billowing. Heba stilled and fear began to make its way into his gut.

“Y-Yes, high priest?” he asked tentatively.

“Heba, right?” the tall man with blue eyes greeted and Heba nodded, though the priest did not seem to care much for his answer as he was flipping through the scrolls in his hand with impatience.

“Good thing I found you. All of you seem to go missing at the same time. You're the only one I've spotted for six halls now,” the priest was saying, though Heba somehow felt that the man was not speaking to him. _“Six!”_ he cried indignantly, “For the sake of my sanity, some of you need to be kept on a lead. I can't go gallivanting everywhere in search of one of you every time I need someone to go into the city!”

With his words, the tension seemed to drain out of Heba until only ecstatic hope remained.

“You need me to go into the city, good priest?” Heba asked, a small smile threatening to split his serious demeanor. He was excited. Finally, someone was going to give him something to do! His giddiness bubbled up inside him and he smiled with abandon. The priest hesitated for a moment, looking at him with a furrowed brow and bewildered eyes.

“What are you smiling at?” he demanded, and Heba shook his head, no longer bothering to fight the grin on his face.

“No reason, my good priest!” he answered brightly, and the priest took a step back, shuffling through his scrolls at a slower pace with one eye on Heba.

“Creepy child,” he muttered before plucking a scroll and humming as he glanced through it. “Yes, this is the one. Child, take this –”

“I'm eighteen years old, I'm not a child,” Heba interrupted before slapping a hand across his mouth. “Forgive me, high priest, I did not mean to interrupt you.”

“Rude little child,” High Priest Seto scoffed, “does it look like I particularly care how old you are? Take this scroll” – Seto pressed it into his hand – “and head to the carpenter at the north end of the city. There's a man, name of Haseem. Give him that scroll and wait for him to hand you a small chest. He should not demand anything for it. If he does, tell him to kiss the bottom of my feet and to hand over the items because I'm not giving him a cent more!” Seto grabbed the gold rod at his waist and pointed it at Heba who flinched, staring at it warily. “If he still gives you trouble, you better remind him of who he's trying to cheat. Got it?”

Heba nodded quickly.

“Haseem, small chest, threats. Got it,” he said, and Seto raised an eyebrow at him before smirking. If Heba dared think it, he would say that Seto was impressed.

“Good,” he said, satisfied, “now run along, you tiny thing. You'll find me among the archives when you return. Be quick about it.”

Heba nodded and turned on his heel. He glanced back to see if High Priest Seto needed anything else, but he was already walking away. Shrugging, Heba turned back onto his path. He made his way through servants and guards, aware of their eyes and their mouthed words to each other as he walked by. It aggravated him and he wished he could turn around and yell at them to stop talking about him. He wanted to scream at them to be quiet. Yet Heba did nothing and braced himself as he passed the muttering hordes.

He made it to the front of the palace without further incident and only then did his shoulders relax. From his back, tucked underneath his sash, he pulled a pair of papyrus sandals and slipped them onto his feet before he started off. No one in the city knew him or his face. As far as Heba knew, the peasants were not privy to the palace gossip. He grew certain of that once he walked by a group of chattering women who glanced at him and looked away just as uncaringly before resuming their lighthearted conversation. No one paid Heba any mind. He had nothing to distinguish him from anyone else but his colored sash that marked him as a palace servant.

Heba took a deep breath as he came to a stop in the market, enjoying the fact that no one knew who he was. The populace looked right through him. He felt free and he loved it. However, when he thought back to Seto, Heba grimaced. He had to be quick. He did not want to anger the only person who had given him a job to do. So Heba pushed past a herd of goats and ducked under vendors' arms as they showed him their wares.

When he made it to the designated place, he pulled the curtain aside and stepped inside the sunbaked mud house.

“H-Haseem?” he called, “I've been sent by G-great Pharaoh's High Priest Seto.”

It was hot inside the workshop and Heba pulled at the neck of the knee-length tunic he wore during the day. He was already beginning to sweat at his waist where he had tied his brown, patterned sash. There were various wood objects inside the room. Heba spotted an instrument here and there among furniture. He looked up when a squat man came into view, eyes narrowed on his sash.

“Sent by that giant, have you,” Haseem huffed, “right, I got his order.” He waved Heba in and Heba followed him to the back where he plucked a box – larger than Heba had anticipated – from a shelf. It was not very ornate. Haseem set the box down on a table and opened it, showing Heba the contents. Inside, was a finely carved stone senet board and its player pieces, half of them like squat hourglasses and the others almost cone in shape. Heba blinked at them and sheepishly thought that he had not asked High Priest Seto what it was he was supposed to be expecting. He looked to the scroll and held it out. The man took it and looked at it, nodding. He turned it so Heba could see the senet board and its pieces drawn upon it.

“There ya go,” Haseem said gruffly, “another blasted senet board to replace the one he broke. Where's the rest of my payment?”

Heba grimaced and shook his head.

“High Priest Seto says to kiss the bottom of his feet and that he will not be paying you more,” Heba said boldly, and Haseem blinked at him.

“Mouthy little brat, aren't ya,” he said, “well, you tell that giant –”

“He also said,” Heba continued, “that if you gave me any trouble, I was to remind you of the fact that he is Great Pharaoh's High Priest Seto and he would not hesitate to destroy you. He did not seem very happy today, so I suggest not to try his patience.” Heba smiled sweetly, and Haseem grumbled something under his breath before shoving the box at him.

“Twist my arm, why don't ya,” Haseem said, “go on then, take the damn box, ya mouthy brat.” Turning, he retreated further into his home with loud rumbling complaints. “Damn priest thinks I'm at his beck and call every time he breaks a damn board – I have other things to do!”

Heba closed the box and breathed a sigh of relief before picking it up and exiting the oppressive heat of the workshop. He made his way back down to the marketplace and made eyes at the beer one vendor was selling before reluctantly continuing on to Pharaoh's home. He was in relatively good spirits. He had completed his job and also gotten out from under the scrutinizing eyes of the rest of the palace. It felt like a good day.

That was … until he came upon the palace walls. Heba's walking came to an abrupt end and his eyes widened. He had paid it no mind, too excited to get to the city, but upon his return, it was impossible to miss. Along the walls were the pikes with the heads of men that Pharaoh had had executed. While this was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the newest addition to the pikes that caught Heba's undivided attention. The head of the man that attacked Heba was there, eyes already plucked out and scavenged by birds of prey. On the head was a large bird with a fluffed head and white plumage. It extended its wings to show off silver wingtips and shrieked at Heba, yellow beak opened wide. Heba gave a start and ran through the gates.

He did not stop running until he had gone down his tenth corridor. His stomach was churning and he felt like throwing up all over again. Panting, Heba leaned against the stone wall, the box clutched tightly to his chest. He was tempted to sit down and cry a little, but the sound of rushed footsteps pulled Heba from his musings and he looked up reluctantly.

“Oh, there – hah – you – hah – are! Hah!” The girl was wheezing and she looked as though she could barely stand. She brushed her brown hair from her face and straightened only to bend over again and brace her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Heba recognized her as the apprentice to the court's magician – and a good friend to Pharaoh – Mana.

“Yes?” Heba asked her, and she held up a hand, waving it sporadically before forcing herself up and speaking.

“The king … Pharaoh requests your presence in his chambers,” Mana said in a rush, “he bids you come immediately.”

Pharaoh wanted Heba _immediately._ Astounded, Heba's heart thudded in his chest. Everything in him said to drop what he was doing and run straight to Pharaoh. It said to forget the Seto's errand, but a small, more rebellious part of Heba said, _Let him wait._ After weeks of being treated like the diseased, Heba would get the satisfaction of revenge in making Pharaoh wait.

Taking a deep breath, Heba motioned with his chin to the chest in his arms.

“I'll come right after I deliver this to the high priest,” Heba said, and Mana gaped at him with slight fear in her blue-green eyes. She looked around quickly and turned back to him.

“...B-but,” she stuttered, and Heba shrugged at her before resuming his path down the corridor. She rushed to catch up behind him, still panting. “Heba, he'll have you whipped!” she cried, and Heba turned to look at her before pursing his lips.

“Maybe,” was all he said as he made his way to the archive room. Mana followed him, wringing her small hands together and worrying her lip bloody, but she did not stop him. When they arrived in the archive room, Heba found the High Priest Seto pouring over what appeared to be a large blueprint of Pharaoh's tomb. Occasionally, he glanced over to peer at some documents, muttering under his breath.

“My good priest,” Heba greeted as he came to stand beside him, “I have brought what you asked.” Heba held out the chest.

Seto looked at him, but did not take the box. He eyed Heba with calculating eyes and nodded.

“Yes, you'll do,” he said.

Heba tilted his head to the side in confusion, but before he could ask, Seto took the box and opened it to peer inside.

“Yes, indeed,” Seto said in contemplation, “you'll do. Child, you will be my personal servant from now on.” At his words, Heba's mouth parted in surprise. Seto had just offered him a position higher than his own superior's! “I do not have time to keep chasing after little servants whenever I need something. Are you up for the job or are you just going to stare at me all day? Like I said, I do not have _time_ for this. The gods know what's gotten into Pharaoh, suddenly ordering me to plan a lengthy trip – when I'm busy designing his tomb!” He huffed indignantly. “As if I did not have _other_ duties – but no one else would do it as well as I.” He smirked smugly, seemingly pleased for all his complaints.

“Please, Priest Seto,” Mana interjected, “Pharaoh has summoned Heba at once, but he refuses to go until he is released from your duty. Please let him go now.” She pleaded with big eyes and Seto stared at her before looking at Heba with mild surprise.

“If you live after today, report to me for your new duties,” Seto said quickly, “your new lodging is with me. Now run along you tiny thing. I'm sure Pharaoh will not be lenient for testing his patience.”

Before Heba could say anything at all, Mana was grabbing at his arm and hauling him out of the room and down the hall. He tried to pull out of her grip, but she held on tightly.

“Please, before he grows angry,” she begged him, and Heba sighed before letting himself be tugged after her. She led Heba through the palace and to Pharaoh's chambers, followed all along by curious eyes. Heba hoped Pharaoh would not make things worse for him. It was bad enough that the whole of the palace believed that Heba was the royal whore. It was worse still that everyone now thought him to be an untouchable.

 _Although,_ Heba reasoned, _it can't possibly get any worse._

He was already insignificant as a servant. Aside from his dignity, he had little else to lose. Although, Heba had to remind himself that he had a new job to look forward to. He smiled to himself, happy that things were possibly looking up for him. And they would keep getting better if only Pharaoh kept his distance. The gossip and rumors were bound to die out eventually. At least, that was what Heba hoped.

* * *

As Mana led Heba into the private bedroom chambers of Pharaoh, something twisted in his stomach. Pharaoh's bedroom was lavish, a room of gold, silk, and splendor that Heba had never seen before. He looked around the marvelous surroundings and then down to his dirty hands and grimy body. Clenching his fingers, Heba held his fists close to himself, afraid of touching anything and sullying it. He was definitely due for a bath after his meeting with Pharaoh.

Waving at him impatiently, Mana led Heba to a bathing chamber where Pharaoh relaxed on a stool in a deep basin, hands braced on his knees as a servant poured scented water over his back. Heba's breath caught in his throat at the mouthwatering sight. The Great Pharaoh Atemu was a dazzling vision of royal perfection. His nude form was the stuff of his most secret, erotic dreams.

The night Pharaoh had come to him had been too dark to see clearly, but now Heba shamelessly let his eyes roam over Pharaoh's bare body. He took in the strong, corded muscle and deep ochre skin, the perfumed water sliding over it in rivulets into the basin below. Mouth dry, Heba would have been blind to not find Pharaoh attractive. Abruptly, the night he had been visited by his king came to mind with stark clarity and Heba blushed at the thought of that body thrusting into him, driving him to ecstasy.

“Go,” commanded Pharaoh, and Heba readily agreed. He had to leave before he said something indecent.

Snapping out of his daze, Heba looked just in time to see the servant boy bow to the ground and retreat from the room without a word. He glanced around and noticed that Mana too, had gone. He remained where he was, suddenly feeling nervous. Fixing his gaze upon the ground, Heba waited to be addressed. Pharaoh did not seem angry, but perhaps he had not made the right decision to make him wait.

“Heba,” the commanding tone bade him look and Heba looked up, careful to avoid Pharaoh's face. A hand was extended towards him, palm up. Pharaoh curled his fingers, moving his wrist in a cupping motion, and Heba hesitated anxiously for only a second before approaching. He realized then that he had not bowed and scrambled to do so, only to receive an amused laugh for his effort.

Face burning with embarrassment, Heba remained in his bow and voiced a meager apology for not bowing earlier.

“Stand,” said Pharaoh.

Heba stood, refusing to look at Pharaoh as he sighed and relaxed in his stool, seemingly content. Heba's hands trembled at his sides when the memory of the decapitated noble came to mind. The last time he had been so close to his king, someone had died. Taking a deep breath, Heba tried to calm his racing heart and his burgeoning fear by praying to the gods above.

“You are too far for my liking, servant,” Pharaoh remarked.

Heba raised his eyes to peer through his blonde bangs and saw Pharaoh sipping at a goblet he had retrieved from the small table beside his bath. Cautiously stepping to the edge of the basin, he waited and Pharaoh set aside his cup. It was then that Heba noticed the infamous pyramid. It lay innocently on the table next to the wine, glinting eerily as it always did. It was then that Heba realized that the golden pyramid was never far from Pharaoh's side. And while curiosity prompted him to ask, he remained silent. He knew the rumors. He had heard plenty of conjecture. The pyramid was a dark artifact that could destroy your heart. Pharaoh only used it behind closed doors with six priests and whatever poor souls had committed a crime so foul that it warranted the heaviest punishment the kingdom had. Heba did not know if that was true, but what he did know was that merely looking at the thing made him cold and wary.

Heba was torn from his thoughts when Pharaoh reached to him and pulled at his sash. He removed it, carelessly tossing it aside before gripping his tunic. Heba blushed profusely as Pharaoh raised the cloth up over his head, and he obliged him by raising his arms. Pharaoh tossed that aside too, letting it join the sash on the floor. Without his clothes, Heba heard the call for sex increase exponentially and he had to fight the grimace from his expression. It would not do to accidentally anger Pharaoh with an exasperated look.

Expression carefully devoid of emotion, Pharaoh stared at him for a couple of moments. The desire to look up into Pharaoh's eyes was strong, but Heba refused the notion. Though curiosity egged him on, he would not dare. Pharaoh was his king and common people were not allowed to look directly at his godly face. Never mind that he had done so before, Heba was sure he could not get away with it again. Pharaoh took Heba's wrist and gently pulled, conveying his order without words, but Heba hesitated.

His king wanted him inside the basin. To bathe with a king, Heba had never heard of such a thing. He was gross and gritty with dirt, sand, and sweat from his venture into the city, and he did not want to dirty the bathwater. He was very visibly filthy, and Heba could not help but question Pharaoh's motives.

 _Sex,_ Heba reminded himself, _dirty or not, he wants to fuck me._

When Pharaoh tugged insistently on Heba's arm, Heba carefully climbed in, standing before him. He was pulled down to kneel between Pharaoh's legs, the water coming up to Heba's stomach, sloshing against him and he shivered. He nervously glanced at Pharaoh's dormant penis. His king was not erect, which made Heba confused. It seemed as though most of the work would fall to him, but Heba waited for direction. He waited as Pharaoh let go of him and watched with befuddlement as he reached over the side to retrieve a pitcher.

Heba blinked as Pharaoh dipped the pitcher into the water and brought it up to his shoulders. Tilting it, Heba gasped as the cool water cascaded over him. He shivered when it stopped, and Pharaoh did it again. It was then that he realized that he was being bathed.

 _A king bathing a servant?_ Again, Heba had never heard of such a thing.

Without thinking, Heba grabbed his Pharaoh's wrist, surprising him into stopping. Pharaoh looked up and Heba took a breath before meeting his gaze directly.

He felt so very reckless.

“My king,” he said, “forgive me, but I cannot let you do this. I am just a servant – you are the king! I –”

“I'll have no more of that, little Heba,” Pharaoh spoke in his deep murmur, “though you are correct. I am King. I do what I please. And right now it would please me to bathe your body.”

Taking Pharaoh's words as his cue, Heba released his wrist. He was surprised that Pharaoh had not struck out at him in anger for touching him in such a way.

“And what did I tell you that night, young one?” Pharaoh murmured, “You are to call me Atemu.”

He tilted Heba's chin up, nudging his head back and Pharaoh – no, _Atemu_ rained water down his curls, soaking them through. Heba closed his eyes at the wonderful sensation and did not notice when his king came down from his stool to kneel before him. Atemu repeated his action, and when the water stopped, his hands were upon Heba's body, smearing him with a natron paste. Heba gave a start in his surprise, but did not open his eyes as Atemu began to rub at his skin and his hair, working the perfumed paste into a slight lather and ridding him of dirt, sand, and sweat.

It became slightly awkward for Heba when his king began washing the more tender parts of his body. His mighty ruler had begun to caress Heba's thighs, fondle his ass, and teasingly dip a finger or two between his cheeks. His rough hands roamed Heba's body at their leisure until Heba was half-hard and completely red in the face. And still, Atemu persisted. His fingers brushed Heba's sensitive inner thighs and Heba's eyes sprang open.

“Atemu,” Heba breathed, trying his hardest not to moan as he gazed into his face. Atemu was watching him intently, red eyes fixed on his own plum-colored ones.

“Yes, little Heba,” Atemu murmured, his fingers pressing firmly into Heba's skin. Heba gasped as the king yanked him into his lap and it was either hang on or fall back, so Heba grabbed his king's shoulders in reflex. He stilled in fear, but Atemu did not reprimand him. He only shifted again until he was sitting in the tub, pulling Heba's legs up and back to wrap around him.

“Atemu,” Heba repeated, exhilarated as Atemu pulled him flush against his chest. Heba shivered, the delight tingling down his spine.

“Heba,” Atemu whispered against his lips and pressed them together.

Breathing in sharply through his nose, Heba gasped, and Atemu devoured the sound with his mouth. Atemu's hands clenched on the backs of his thighs and Heba trembled. His king kissed him with passion, fanning his embers into flames, and when Atemu pulled him closer, Heba felt the king's length against him, awake and ready.

Heba shuddered in anticipation and his thoughts returned to that night. He recalled with clarity how the king had fucked him with his cock and driven him to ecstasy. Atemu had been insatiable, gripping and touching him like he could not get enough. Rolling his hips, Heba moaned. He rubbed himself against Atemu. He wanted that hard penis inside of him again. He did not care if it made him appear wanton. Heba craved it.

“Can you feel what you do to me, Heba?” Atemu pulled from his lips and whispered against his mouth, reluctant to stop kissing him. His hand slipped up to the curve of Heba's ass, massaging briefly before dipping between the crevice of his cheeks to rub a finger against his puckered hole.

“Yes, Atemu, I feel it,” Heba squirmed, pressing down on the insistent finger and sliding himself over Atemu's hard cock. Atemu groaned at the action and took Heba's lips again, their mouths meshing once more. He licked at Heba's lip, and Heba welcomed his king's tongue into his mouth, sucking on it gently. Below, he could feel Atemu's penis twitch excitedly against him. But then Atemu pulled away, and Heba followed with a whine, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest.

Heba looked uncertainly at the hand and up to Atemu's smoldering stare. He opened his mouth to speak, but Atemu beat him to it.

“I want to see your face,” Atemu said hotly, and before Heba could react, Atemu pushed his finger inside. Heba gasped and stiffened, his cheeks growing warm as Atemu watched him. His eyes never left Heba's and Heba could not find it in himself to look away.

“A-Atemu,” Heba breathed, and Atemu teased him with his finger. He pressed in and out of him, mimicking the act that was sure to come, and the edge of his lips slowly dragged themselves up into a familiar, mocking smirk.

“Like it?” Atemu murmured lowly, shoving his finger inside pointedly.

Heba's cheeks became deeply rouged and he did not answer. His body twitched and trembled of its own accord and he could not stop it. He suddenly felt exposed as he sat on his king's lap, feeling that throbbing length against him with those piercing eyes watching his every move. Heba felt embarrassed then, embarrassed of his body's reactions and how much he enjoyed his king's touch.

“Yes,” he whispered softly and his blush grew hot on his face. He shuddered against the probing finger.

“Do you want more?” Atemu asked, and his smirk grew wider, moving a second finger to the rim of Heba's asshole. He teased at the edges and Heba looked away, unable to stand that intense gaze that watched him as though he were a perverted form of amusing entertainment. However, his desire to hide his shame was denied as Atemu instantly gripped his chin and turned his face back.

“Do not turn away from me, Heba,” Atemu murmured roughly, “I am enjoying this, your face.” He caressed Heba's chin, coaxing him into remaining still. “Now, answer me, do you want another?” Atemu gazed at him steadily, eyes burning with desire that seared Heba's cheeks with mortification and excitement. His stomach clenched and Heba bit his lip.

“Yes!” he gasped, and Atemu pushed his second finger into Heba. He slid the fingers in further and worked at Heba's rim, spreading Heba's hole and preparing him for his cock. Heba bit at his lip and his violet eyes watered unwittingly. Atemu watched as his cheeks grew redder and a twist pulled at his lips, pleased by the sight.

“Beautiful as always, little Heba,” he said, growing ever satisfied by Heba's increasing flush. “Tell me, did you miss my cock as much as I missed seeing you squirm?”

“M-my king,” Heba breathed and his hands clenched upon Atemu's shoulders when he found that pleasure spot. “Ah! My king!”

“Atemu, little Heba,” Atemu said firmly, _“say it.”_

“A-Atemu!” Heba shouted as Atemu pressed against the bundle of nerves within him. His voice echoed in the empty bathing chamber and Atemu repeated his action to have him scream some more. “Oh, my _god,_ Atemu!”

“...Yours,” Atemu murmured, threading his royal fingers into Heba's hair. He yanked Heba to him and pressed their lips together, sloshing the water around them as their skin slapped together. Heba took his affection with greed and Atemu pushed his third finger into Heba's squirming and shivering body. In his lap, Heba pushed and rubbed against him, and Atemu was reassured by his light weight, the feeling of Heba's swollen dick against his abdomen, and the thighs squeezing his sides.

_Yours._

Heba shrieked as Atemu fucked him with his fingers. Those digits abused his prostate, and Heba gasped and jerked, wrapping his arms around his king to pull himself away. The water splashed, the sound superfluous with Heba's loud whimpers filling the room. Their mouths separated and it was too good, too much. Heba could not go on much longer. He yanked himself up, sending water over the edge of the basin as he tried to relieve himself of the pleasurable torture, but Atemu's fingers followed his every move, pressing into him and firmly stimulating him. Heba was shuddering and his thighs were clamping down on Atemu as he screamed in pleasure, head thrown back, back arched, and dick maddeningly red.

Atemu's lips found Heba's collarbone and proceeded to ply attention to the skin there. He bit, sucked, and kissed his way to Heba's nipple, biting down abruptly. Heba's hands clenched in Atemu's hair as he shouted in a thread of pain and pleasure. Sucking on the nub, Atemu removed his digits from Heba's ass. The tension left Heba's body and his thighs eased, trembling against him weakly. He grabbed Heba's ass with both hands and ground against him, his dick throbbing and aching to be inside of him. Heba whimpered and his hands dropped from his hair. They slid to his shoulders and up again to his neck before cupping Atemu's jaw.

Releasing Heba's swollen nipple, Atemu let himself be pulled up into an ardent, pleading kiss. Heba's mouth opened for him and Atemu tasted his servant. Heba tasted of pomegranates and that thing that was uniquely Heba. And as he ran his tongue along Heba's mouth, Atemu moved his hands from his ass to his sides. He let his palms roam up Heba's back and over his delicious body. Atemu hummed deep in his throat with satisfaction, but it was still not enough. He wanted more of Heba, he wanted to be inside of him then.

As Atemu pulled away, Heba made an audible sound of disappointment that ripped a chuckle from his chest.

“Let's get out of this bath and move to a more comfortable place, shall we?” he murmured against Heba's lips, and Heba kissed him boldly, moving sinfully on Atemu's lap before nodding.

“Yes,” Heba whispered, “please, yes.”

Atemu's hands moved beneath Heba's unsteady thighs and he stood then, taking Heba with him. Abruptly, Heba secured his arms around Atemu's neck so he would not fall. Atemu did not look away from him as he stepped out of the basin and towards the bedroom. With every step his king took, Heba felt Atemu's length brush underneath him, reminding him of its glorious existence.

Then Heba's world was tilting and he was falling backwards with Atemu and his wet back met the king's soft bed. He looked up at Atemu, meeting his gaze, and was startled when Atemu leaned down to kiss him. All of a sudden, Atemu was no longer fierce like fire, but asphyxiating like smoke. His presence had turned heavy and full of unspoken words, words that he mouthed against Heba's lips, making his heart stutter in his chest. When Atemu pulled away, Heba held his breath at the sight of those startlingly gentle, violet-red orbs.

“Do you want me, Heba?” Atemu's suddenly quiet voice spoke to him, and Heba was almost uncertain that he had truly heard it. It sounded so unlike his king, the lack of sharp command replaced by a sweet comfort. Heba had never heard Atemu speak in such a tone before. And though it baffled him, he would not question it.

“Of course, my king,” Heba readily answered, and Atemu shut his eyes momentarily, lids squeezing shut as though something pained him.

“No, Heba,” Atemu said, opening his eyes once more. He took Heba's cheek into his hand, meeting his gaze. His expression was serious and calm.

“M-my king?” Heba asked, his voice small and uncertain.

“...You,” Atemu asked and there was something strange in his eyes. “Do you _want_ me?” he repeated carefully, and Heba finally understood what he meant.

Heba's heart skipped a beat in his chest and he carefully leaned up. Hesitantly, he pressed his lips against Atemu's in a soft kiss. His eyes fluttered closed of their own accord and he heard Atemu breathe sharply as their lips touched. Heba felt warm in his belly, warm in his heart. He pulled away and opened his eyes to see that Atemu had closed his own once again, though he did not appear distressed.

“Yes, Atemu,” Heba said so quietly that he did not think his king had heard him.

But his king had.

“Good,” Atemu said with a finality Heba did not understand, and then he was untangling himself from Heba's body. Heba watched him go with confusion, but then his foot was grabbed at the ankle and Atemu was nipping at the arch of his foot. Heba froze and held his breath in disbelief. Atemu dragged his tongue up the side of his foot to his toe, nipping at it before moving on to his ankle. Heba bit the inside of his cheek and barely contained his fidgeting as Atemu's playful nips ascended his leg. The nips turned into kisses at Heba's knee, and none too soon, Atemu was sucking on the flesh of his inner thigh.

Biting at his lip, Heba's toes curled and he grasped the linen sheets beneath him, seeking purchase. Atemu bit at his skin and Heba cried out in pain, knowing that his king was marking him once again, but surprisingly unbothered by it. Atemu ran his tongue along his thigh, biting Heba, and pausing right at the junction of his pelvis. Then Atemu was gone and Heba looked down when he took up his other leg, repeating his motions. His mouth traveled up from his foot, along his leg, worshiping his flesh with tongue and teeth, marking him with reminders of his lips.

Heba's head fell back onto the bed, disbelief and amazement filling him. His god, the king of all Khemet, was touching his body like Heba was a temple and Atemu was at his place of worship. Atemu plied kisses, bites, and licks to his skin as though they were offerings for his prayers and Heba was the god they were meant for. The thought made Heba shiver, his skin hum, and his body yearn for more. Heba was just a lowly citizen of Atemu's kingdom, but he was in Atemu's room, on his bed, and under his divine touch.

When Atemu's hand wandered down his thigh, Heba moaned, fingers gripping at the sheets. He spread his legs further for Atemu and heard his soft groan at his action. Atemu's lips pressed themselves to the dip of Heba's thigh and groin, kissing and nipping as Heba's neglected dick throbbed with want. He jerked when Atemu's cheek brushed against his tense sack and gasped when a warm hand enveloped the base of his length and warm puff of breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of his cock. Heba's head snapped up from the bed and he looked down to see Atemu smirking, his lips hovering over the head of Heba's length.

Before Heba could even form a single thought, Atemu ducked his head and ran the length of his tongue up the side of Heba's penis and Heba collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath.

“Oh, my god!” Heba gripped at the sheets until his knuckles turned white, and Atemu repeated his action, licking Heba's cock like one would the rim of a cup to catch stray droplets of wine. Heba groaned softly and Atemu swirled his tongue around the head. “M-my … m-my,” Heba tried to form words, but he could not with Atemu's amazing tongue pleasing him.

 _Oh, gods above, he's the king!_ Heba thought with anxiety and raised his head to look down, opening his mouth to stop Atemu. The words died on his tongue at the sight of those violet-red eyes watching him with mirth. Atemu ran his tongue over the slit and suddenly enveloped the head with his mouth. Heba fell back to the sheets, cursing incoherently as Atemu lowered his head until his lips touched the base. He sucked on the length and Heba's hips jerked up involuntarily.

“Atemu!”

In response, Atemu hummed around his length and Heba moaned. He could not believe what his king was doing to him. Heba was shocked and the greedy part of him begged for more. For sure, he would be cursed by the gods, but Heba could not find it in himself to care. Atemu was his in that moment and no one else's. Heba would keep the memory forever. The next day did not matter and neither did the day after that. His king had deigned to pleasure him and that was something Heba would never regret. He relaxed then, his spine melting onto the bed as he finally let go of his anxiety and let himself enjoy the royal mouth around his dick.

As if sensing his change of heart, Atemu chuckled around his length and gave him a hard suck. Heba chewed at his lips and his hands moved on their own accord. They dragged through his king's damp, red hair and clenched. Surprised, Atemu let himself be pulled up and away from Heba's cock. Persistent lips pressed against his own and Atemu soon found himself rolled onto his back with a greedy servant writhing above him. Pleased, Atemu surrendered his control to Heba who released his mouth with a slick pop.

Without a thought in his head, Heba kissed Atemu's jaw and down his throat. All he knew was that Atemu was his for as long as the man wanted and Heba had all the intent to take advantage of that. The laws and gods be damned, Heba would succumb to his desires and have the king of Khemet to himself if only for one night. And what Heba wanted most in that moment, was the king inside of him like that first stupendous night. He wanted to be filled to the brim and forget his problems as a palace servant. Status, rank, and reputation did not matter any longer, not here in the arms of his one-night lover.

Moving down Atemu's body, Heba rained kisses over the smooth, deep ochre skin and soon arrived to his prize. Atemu's cock was swollen with need against his abs and leaking. Taking the base with one hand, Heba swallowed down the dick without preamble. He needed the king inside of him as soon as possible. He was impatient as he sucked the length into his mouth, coating it with his saliva. Forcing his reflex to gag down, Heba lowered his lips to the bottom, earning himself an appreciative groan from Atemu that only egged him on.

When Heba pulled off from the throbbing organ, he met Atemu's eyes and shivered at the sight of those hot, wine-colored irises. Atemu was watching him with carnal desire and Heba relished his gaze. With the way Atemu stared, Heba might as well be the most desirable man in Khemet. Licking at the head of Atemu's cock, Heba deemed it wet enough and crawled back up to his king. As he positioned himself over Atemu, Heba felt those hands wander up his thighs and caress his skin. Reaching back, he took Atemu's dick in hand and placed the tip at his entrance, keeping his gaze locked with Atemu's.

He wanted to watch Atemu come undone.

Those brown hands squeezed his thighs and Heba pushed down, gasping as the head popped past his rim. He lowered himself slowly, watching with delight as the king pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. Heba's lips tilted at the edge and he moaned as he bottomed out. He waited a couple of seconds as he got used to the feeling of the large member inside him before he slowly lifted himself. The cock dragged out of him and Heba's thighs trembled.

He set the pace slow, and Atemu made no attempt to hurry him. Atemu only watched him with ardent eyes as Heba gently rode him, the hands on his thighs tight and unmoving. There was no urgency in their union and Heba let himself enjoy the control Atemu was granting him. Belatedly, he realized that Atemu was restraining himself and Heba secretly delighted in that as well. He rolled his hips as he descended and a moan left his lips as Atemu's length pressed against his pleasure spot. He did it again, faster, and tossed his head back with a groan.

“Atemu,” he said, and Atemu released a hiss that sounded vaguely like his name, “Atemu.”

He moved faster, rising and falling on that glorious cock inside him, rolling his hips and aiming for the spot inside him that made him shudder with pleasure. He panted and braced his hands behind him on Atemu's steady thighs, undulating his body as the coil of pleasure within him wound tighter. Heba's voice grew louder and his pace increased. He was getting close to his end.

“So, close, Atemu,” he gasped and did not even notice when Atemu began to help him along. Those rich ochre hands gripped him and then Atemu was moving beneath him, driving up into Heba as he moaned with abandon. “Oh, my god! Yes!”

His end arrived too soon. Heba screamed his last as his pleasure peaked and he came with a loud cry.

“Atemu!” he shouted and his seed spurted forth onto the king's torso. But as he felt his body go limp, he was twisted around onto the bed and Heba's world spun as he saw stars. Then Atemu was looming over him, his dick throbbing as he took over and fucked him to his own completion. Atemu drove inside of Heba without rhythm, his hips slapping against Heba's ass as he sought his end. Overstimulated, Heba whimpered and clenched down on the cock still invading him. That was all it took and Atemu cursed as his orgasm was wrenched out of him in an instant. He collapsed onto Heba, spent, sweaty, and satisfied.

Heba did not think when he pulled Atemu close, wrapping his arms about Atemu's shoulders, his thighs cradling his hips.

They were still and panting, both coming down from their highs. Heba was still trying to regain his breath when Atemu pulled away from his hold. He winced as Atemu pulled out of him and was left cold and empty as he walked away. Confused and hurt, Heba raised his head, but Atemu was nowhere in sight. It was the quickest his king had left him yet. He felt nervous and did not know what to do.

 _Does he want me to leave?_ Heba thought, anxious.

Before Heba could think about what he had done, Atemu came back into the room with a damp cloth. His face was expressionless, and Heba's stomach fluttered with nerves. He watched as Atemu climbed the bed and blinked in confusion when he began to wipe down Heba's chest. When he moved lower, Heba blushed and squirmed as Atemu cleaned him up, handling him gently and making sure not to rub too hard on the skin surrounding his throbbing asshole. When he was done, Atemu tossed the cloth to the ground and laid down beside Heba, moving one arm up to cradle his head. When he closed his eyes, Heba sat up slightly, watching him in bewilderment.

 _...So do I go or what?_ Heba thought with confusion.

Biting down on his lip, Heba shifted and decided it was time to go. But before he could so much as sit up completely, Atemu's other arm yanked him back down to the bed and his king curled himself behind Heba. Atemu's breath was warm on his neck and Heba's heart fluttered in his chest. He did not understand what his king was doing, but it was obvious that he was not allowed to leave just yet. It was just as well since Heba could not actually feel his legs.

“Don't leave me,” his king whispered, and Heba's frail heart somersaulted in his chest. Without a word, he obeyed, settling down as his eyes unwittingly watered. Blinking the sudden moisture away, Heba breathed a tired sigh, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When he awoke, Heba's first thought was how comfortable he was and how reluctant he felt to begin the day. It was not like anyone required anything of him anymore and he was much inclined to remain in his cozy heaven. He had never slept so well or so comfortably. The floor beneath him was unusually forgiving, and he felt a lazy warmth all over as though he had fallen asleep outside in the late afternoon, underneath the shade of a pomegranate tree. With a pleased grunt, Heba opened his eyes and blinked, perplexed, by the sight of white linen extending to the far reaches of the bed. It was not until his eyes fell upon the rest of the room that Heba remembered where he was. Startled, he bolted up and immediately winced. Behind him, there was an amused chuckle and Heba froze.

Slowly, he turned and he stilled as his eyes fell upon none other than his Pharaoh. He was lounging beside Heba, pillows propping him up as he plucked grapes from a bowl sitting on the bed. His golden crown was on his head, gold bands around his arms, and the Power of Khemet, as he had often heard the pyramid referred as, was back around his neck, glinting eerily in the late afternoon light. Heba shuddered at the sight of it.

“Did you sleep well, young one?” Pharaoh asked him.

“M-my king,” Heba stuttered. He turned over with difficulty and only managed to envelop himself in the sheet. With a displeased huff, he tried to release himself from his accidental bondage, but only entangled himself even more. Wriggling, Heba struggled and Pharaoh laughed.

“Back to 'my king', are we?” Pharaoh sighed and dropped the grape he held back into the bowl. He then reached out, and with a solid yank, managed to pull the deathtrap from Heba's body. It was then that Heba realized he was still naked and he blushed as Pharaoh raked his gaze over him with a small smirk pulling at his lips. “I've told you _countless_ times to call me Atemu.”

“Forgive me, my king,” Heba said distractedly as he glanced around for his clothes. He did not see them anywhere. “Should I go?”

“Go?” Pharaoh echoed with bewilderment, “Now why would you do a thing like that when your place is in my bed?” He beckoned to Heba who hesitated before moving forward. Once he was within reach, Pharaoh pulled Heba to straddle his lap and plucked his previously abandoned grape. “Now be still so that I may feed you several grapes,” Pharaoh said with an absent lick to his lips, his voice lowering to a vague murmur, “and maybe the next time I kiss you, you will taste of grapes.”

Before Heba could protest, Pharaoh pressed the grape against his lips and Heba took it shyly, though he felt more baffled than ever. As he chewed, Pharaoh's expression softened minutely and he smiled then. It was unlike any smile Heba had ever seen on his face, warm and open, like he was genuinely _happy._ Heba could not recall the last time he had seen the Pharaoh of Khemet actually _happy,_ and it hurt his heart to think about. It took several seconds before the reason why suddenly became all too clear to Heba, and his heart skipped several beats, his eyes widening in shock. Pharaoh ran a contemplative finger down his cheek and took a grape for himself. He chewed the grape and his brow suddenly furrowed in thought.

“I've been curious,” said Pharaoh softly, “about your actions the other day. You stepped in front of that pathetic, little man and tried to save his life.”

Torn from his revelation, Heba concentrated on Pharaoh's words. It was with great effort that Heba swallowed down the grape. His heart began to race at the memory and he shivered in revulsion at the image his mind immediately conjured of the nobleman's headless body and his unseeing eyes. Heba bit his lip as Pharaoh took another grape from the vine.

“You braved my sword,” Pharaoh murmured and he held the grape a finger's width from Heba's lips. He seemed confounded at his words. He said, “Why didn't you move?”

Biting down on his lip, Heba lowered his gaze and closed his eyes. Pharaoh's question deserved a careful answer, but there was no other way to put what Heba had felt that day. Taking a shaky breath, he kept his eyes squeezed shut.

“...I knew you wouldn't do it,” Heba whispered.

Pharaoh ceased all movement, and Heba braced himself for the consequences.

“Repeat that,” Pharaoh said and his voice had lowered dangerously, “I don't believe I heard you correctly.”

So Heba took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Slowly, he raised his head and looked his king in his red, narrowed eyes. He repeated his statement and his words were louder, stronger, _sure,_ “I knew you would be unable to strike me down.”

Immediately, Pharaoh's expression cleared of confusion. He tensed, jaw working angrily as he fully understood Heba's words.

“You _insolent_ little,” Pharaoh hissed and dropped the grape. He seized Heba by his neck then and glowered at him, his eyes spitting fire in his rage. “Do you think me weak?” he seethed, “Or do you think yourself so valuable –”

“Yes,” Heba said fearfully.

“How dare you!” Pharaoh snapped, and Heba gasped as he was thrown onto his back. His king loomed over him, glowering and furious. “You are nothing but a servant –”

“I may be a servant, but I am more than that to you,” Heba said quickly, his body trembling as Pharaoh gritted his teeth.

“Why you little … give me one good reason why I shouldn't snap your neck like a twig,” Pharaoh snarled.

“You won't,” Heba whispered.

“You are walking a very thin line, Heba –” Pharaoh began to say when Heba cut him off, his mind whirling with the blasphemy he was committing.

“I can see it in your eyes, my king,” Heba whispered and Pharaoh fell silent at once, “I can feel it when you touch me.” Upon seeing Pharaoh's disconcerted expression, Heba gulped down his nerves and continued. “I am your weakness,” he said, and Pharaoh's lips thinned severely.

“I have no _weakness_ –”

“You can't deny it,” Heba said breathlessly, “even now, though I fear you, you will not do away with me. Even now” – Heba placed his hand over Pharaoh's and his eyes shimmered with emotion – “your hold is tender. Even as I speak, you refuse to hurt me. You may threaten me all you like, my king, but your threats are empty and _that_ is more frightening to me than your temper.”

Violet-red eyes wide, Pharaoh stared at Heba in disbelief, jaw slackening imperceptibly. His fingers twitched on Heba's neck before he scowled. Suddenly, his face was grim and his tone serious.

“I could have you whipped for your rude tongue, little Heba,” Pharaoh threatened through clenched teeth.

“But you won't, will you,” Heba asked rhetorically, his plum-colored eyes sad. When Pharaoh hesitated, Heba swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Beyond a doubt, Heba had confirmed what he had suspected back in the garden and his heart squeezed tightly in his chest.

Pharaoh, the great leader of Upper and Lower Khemet, was in love with him.

A swell of despair swept through Heba as the full extent of his realization crashed down on him, leaving him breathless.

 _Why?_ Heba thought, _I'm just a royal whore –_

“You are no such thing,” Pharaoh said, and Heba realized with a start that he had spoken aloud. His thumb caressed Heba's neck, rubbing its print over his skin. “I said it then too. You could have fucked the entirety of my kingdom, and you still would not be a whore.” His expression was sincere, open, but Heba looked away, hesitant. The palace knew him as his king's whore, subject to Pharaoh's every lustful whim. “Heba,” Pharaoh said softly, and Heba met his gaze reluctantly. Those tempestuous eyes were filled with unusual kindness. “You are no slave to me,” he said firmly. “If you reject my touch, I will not put my hands upon you. I'm not a beast.”

And Heba recalled their tryst, when Pharaoh had looked upon him and asked for his consent. He had not proceeded until Heba had. But his heart grew cold with dread, a revelation striking him numb.

“My king,” Heba whispered, “I am a danger to you, and by extension, your kingdom.”

Pharaoh was silent, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. With a deep breath, he spoke and his voice was a low murmur.

“Do you expect me to do away with you?” he asked, “To protect my kingdom?”

“Of course,” Heba said doubtlessly, “if your enemies realized –”

“If you are correct in your assumptions, little one, then you know my answer,” Pharaoh said.

Closing his eyes, Heba fought the burning in the corner of his eyes. While he agonized at Pharaoh's answer, a part of Heba rejoiced and he felt guilty for it. Pharaoh had chosen him regardless.

With a sigh, Pharaoh released his throat and his hand shifted to caress Heba's soft cheek. “You know I cannot let you go so easily.”

Heba moved and his arms embraced Pharaoh. The tears that formed in his eyes burned beneath his lids.

“Yes, I know,” Heba said softly.

With a sigh, Pharaoh pulled Heba close and he moved back into his previous lounging position with Heba lying over him. Absently, he ran a hand through Heba's hair, a wry smile on his face.

“I told myself many times that I did not want you,” Pharaoh said, “but I was fighting a losing battle. I could no longer deny it to myself and I had hoped that you could not see how hard I had fallen for that smiling boy who snuck fruit while he attended my court.”

But the romanticism was lost on Heba who could only stare.

“My king, you beheaded a nobleman for me,” Heba replied with incredulity, “how much more obvious can you get?”

Pharaoh huffed in annoyance.

“Right,” he said in defeat. They were quiet for several moments until Pharaoh spoke again. “That reminds me,” he said idly. He then reached up a brown hand and pinched Heba's cheek. He held on even as Heba whimpered and tried to move away. However, not once did Heba even think to push Pharaoh's hand from his cheek.

“My king,” Heba pouted at him and his eyes were still watery, “that hurts.”

“Good,” Pharaoh replied gruffly, “that's for biting me last time.”

At a loss, Heba blinked at Atemu before it dawned on him. On their first night together, Heba had indeed bitten him. Heba’s eyes widened and his pout worsened into a sulk. “You are a petty king, _your majesty,”_ he said sullenly.

“It's Atemu, Heba. _Atemu._ How many times must I tell you?” Pharaoh –

 _No, Atemu,_ Heba abruptly corrected himself, _it's Atemu, Atemu, Atemu._

Atemu said with exasperation, “Or would you rather I call you 'servant'?”

“I _am_ your servant, my king,” Heba retorted.

“Stop being smart with me,” Atemu growled, annoyed, “Call me Atemu or I'll have you whipped.”

Narrowing his eyes at him, Heba stuck out his tongue defiantly.

“I'll have that cut off too,” Atemu said.

“No, you won't,” Heba challenged, eyes so full of certainty, that Atemu could only eye him warily before sighing wearily.

“...I have a feeling I've made a mistake,” Atemu said tiredly and Heba grinned, effectively dislodging his hand.

“Yes, you have,” Heba replied brightly.

“I will smother you,” Atemu said lowly in a last ditch effort to regain his upper hand, but Heba was having none of it.

“You won't,” he said with a grin.

Atemu briefly contemplated smothering Heba just to spite him.

“Don't tempt me, Heba,” he said, but there was no bite to his words.

“Of course, my king,” Heba said seriously, trying and failing to fight the laughter shaking his shoulders.

“Now you're just being patronizing. I really will have you whipped,” Atemu said and raised a finger to him in warning.

“Of course, my king,” Heba giggled.

“...Heba,” Atemu warned. He really would smother him. Whether it would be with a pillow or with kisses, no one needed to know besides Atemu himself.

“Forgive me. Atemu,” Heba said and his playful grin dimmed into something small and sweet. Before Atemu could say another word, Heba moved forward and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

Atemu was satisfied.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ♡ I'm sorry for the hiatus, but rest assured that I'm working hard for the rest of my fics! Updates are incoming!
> 
> Follow me on twitter [@nanadanonini](https://twitter.com/nanadanonini)! I post writing updates, life tidbits, line excerpts, and more! It's also great to let y'all know if I'm delaying a chapter update! You can also interact with me. ♡ If you're a writer or just starting out, you can also feel free to ask me anything you'd like and I will try my very best to help you. 
> 
> Reminder that: I am bilingual and anyone who would prefer to comment in Spanish is welcome to.
> 
> Be sure to check out my other fics!


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